


Pretty in Pink

by lolo313



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Panties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 16:36:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10495077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolo313/pseuds/lolo313
Summary: Sam needed to relax. He was wound tighter than a snake round its dinner, and if he didn’t do something soon, he’d snap.Luckily, Dean knew just the thing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for being here. Hope you enjoy.

            Sam needed to relax. He was wound tighter than a snake round its dinner, and if he didn’t do something soon, he’d snap. Dean noticed it bout two states back, after a particularly nasty salt and burn. Sonnabitch nearly took out an entire mausoleum before they were able to smoke the sucker. Still, the sight of Dean banged up, hanging by his boot from an elm tree rattled Sammy something awful. The kid was sweet on him, a fact Dean loved to needle his baby brother about, especially after a couple whiskeys, his lips ghosting over the shell of Sam’s ear. ‘Cept there’d been no time for the usual celebrations, the ‘last-night-in-this-motel-who-gives-a-fuck-if-the-neighbors-hear’ hoorah they normally went in for. Seemed as soon as they’d thrown their shovels in the trunk, they’d gotten a call from Bobby saying there was a banshee in Ogdenville, Minnesota and _I need you boys over there yesterday_.

            So they’d checked out of their room that very night, driving over acres of asphalt till dawn crept over the horizon like honey spilled up. Dean darted glances over at Sammy, watching him squirm and fidget in the passenger seat. There’d been a little girl, back in Summerset. Susie Carmicson, eight years old and a double-dutch queen. They’d come calling as cops, asking the routine questions to Mrs. Carmicson about her husband’s recent disappearance. While Dean jotted down details, Sam tried to wrangle his mile-long legs through a jump rope. He didn’t think Dean heard him, when he bent down and promised Susie they’d keep her safe, that it was their job and they were real good at it. But he did, and his heart did that flutter it did whenever Dean was reminded of all the goodness he lacked crammed into his little brother’s body.

            The ghost got to her first, a jilted lover pushed to suicide when the late Mr. Carmicson gave her the boot. Apparently offing her ex hadn’t been enough.

            Sam took it hard, like he always does whenever he feels like he’s failed. Not that Dean wasn’t fucked up, like the faces of everyone they’ve lost don’t float above him as he lies in bed wrapped around his brother. But you can either drown in it or learn to swim, and Dean’s been treading water since he was four years old. Sam though…some days Dean worried his head will slip below the surface and he won’t be able to drag him up for air again.

            The job in Ogdenville was nothing special. Routine, if having to flush a floating woman with literal ear-piercing screams out of an abandoned shack three miles deep in the woods could be called routine. Sam worked with a laser focus, staying up well into the early morning, pouring over his laptop and newspaper archives dredged up from the moldiest dust-mound in the local library’s basement. Dean did his fair share, legwork mostly, so sue him if when he got home at the end of a day on the beat he just wanted to kick back and relax. He was only human, last he checked.

            Sam was having none of it. Not that he wanted Dean to help him research; he didn’t trust Dean within a mile of his computer (he left _one_ video of twins fucking open in his browser and he was banned for life), and even on his best days Dean could barely get through a page of a newspaper before nodding off. No, what he really wanted was for Dean to keep the chitchat to a minimum, pick a halfway decent Chinese place for dinner, and leave him alone to get some work done.

            But Dean saw the tight hunch of Sammy’s shoulders, how they inched ever closer to his ears, his back curling against the table like burnt paper. If Dean hadn’t spent most of his adolescence lost in his eyes, Dean would swear he only had one eyebrow, judging from the way they ground together over his nearly cross-eyed glare. When it came right down to it, this wasn’t healthy, it bordered on obsession, and could have long-lasting, real-life consequences. Sam was a decent shot now (Dean had to grudgingly admit), but he wasn’t gunna be worth shit with a shotgun if he went blind from pouring over fine print by the light of his smartphone.

            Besides, nothing he did could really be categorized as “a bother,” unless you hated someone coming up and rubbing your shoulders while they kissed along your jawline. Which, Dean knew from many, many previous occasions, Sammy did not. Except instead of barreling out of his chair and throwing Dean down on the bed, or melting his back into Dean’s chest and opening himself up to wandering fingers, he shrugged Dean off, pushing him away and doubling-over, face inches from the musty tome in his lap.

            “Can’t you see I’m working?”

            Dean liked to think of himself as a considerate man, willing—happy! even—to put the needs of others before his own. Like how he’d turn the radio down from 10 to 8 when Sam was napping, or how he always let him have the last gummy worm. You didn’t spend a life crisscrossing the country putting your neck on the line against all manner of supernatural bullshit and come out the other side unwilling to make a sacrifice or too. But dammit, he was only a man, it was neigh on a week since they’d fucked, and Dean wasn’t sure what would burst first, his head or his balls.

            At least the job had been easy, thank fuck. Once he’d accepted that “research” did not include under the table blowjobs, Dean had left Sammy to it, deciding instead to fume or jack off. Usually both. All in all they were able to wrap things up in under three days, a new record, and cause to celebrate, as far as Dean was concerned. Seemed though they’d barely wiped their hands off when Sammy started talking about packing up and heading out.

            “You kidding me?” Dean wiggled a finger in his ear to dislodge the pound of dust that had forced its way in when the banshee quite literally brought the house down on them. “This the same Sammy I know and love, wanting to rush off to the next job?”

            “People are _dying_ , Dean.” Sam waved a newspaper clipping in his face. Dean snatched it out of his hand and scanned the page.

            “Says here an apartment complex might go under after a wave of people bailed on their leases due to ‘unexplained phenomena.’ Doesn’t exactly sound like Texas Chainsaw.”

            “Not yet. But it could be. That’s why we gotta get over there, we gotta—”

            “Sam, Sammy, babe.” Dean guided Sam onto the foot of the bed, hands rubbing up his arms. “We can check this thing out, first thing in the morning, promise, okay? But dude, you look like you just came from a dust bunny orgy—”

            “Gross.”

            “—and I’m starving. Can’t we just get a bite to eat first? Then a good night’s rest and _bam_ , we hit the road. What do you say?”

            Dean held his breath while Sam deliberated and there, there was that dimpled, heart melting grin that has fucked Dean up since he was fourteen.

            “Yeah. Yeah okay. Mind if I shower first? I think I’ve got some ceiling in my crotch.”

            “I insist.” Sam made for the bathroom but turned when Dean failed to follow. Instead, he’d grabbed the keys off the bedside table. “Oh, don’t mind me.” Dean ignored the raised eyebrow. “Just need to pop over to the store and pick something up. I’ll be back before you get out.”

            “Oh. You sure? I mean, you didn’t want to…?” Sam pointed back towards the shower. And _fuck_ , Dean did. Practically went dizzy from the amount of blood that rushed to his dick at that disappointed droop on Sam’s lips. But he waited this long—now it was Sam’s turn.

            “Yeah, you go on around. But hey!” Dean ducked his head back into the room, body angled out the front door. “Save some hot water for me!”

 

            “Fucking finally.” Sam revved up the engine as Dean slid into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut. “What, you almost drown in there or something?”

            “You think I roll outta bed looking this good?” Dean smoothed a hand through his still-wet hair. “Besides, you can’t have been waiting for more than fiv—”

            “Fifteen minutes. And that was _after_ you said you’d be out in three.” Sam peeled out of the parking lot, and as if it had never left, the familiar tightness returned to his jaw. But Dean sat low in his seat, hand out the open window. He’d take care of that soon enough. Dean had spotted the store—decked out in tawdry reds and leather blacks, tucked back behind a liquor store—when they first made it to town. Idle curiosity had brought him in, looking to browse more than buy. Truth be told, he couldn’t work up the courage, but Dean would suffer any form of embarrassment if it meant getting a rise out of Sammy.

            “How bout that one?” Dean pointed to a shiny, chrome-plated diner, complete with bubblegum pastels and red, leather seats. “I’d kill for a burger.”

            Sam agreed, if his grunt was anything to go by. They parked and locked up, Dean leaning on the hood as he waited for Sam. Timing, after all, was everything. He walked ahead, two steps in front, and waited till they were hedged in right by the entrance.

            “Shoe’s untied. Let me just.” He didn’t kneel, but instead bent forward, foot lifted onto the little ledge by the door. He’d picked the jeans out special, tighter than normal, and he made sure they road low on his hips. As he went down he made sure his shirt road up his back, just the tiniest bit, so the barest strip of skin was showing. He heard Sam gasp, heard him come to a dead stop, heard the clatter of the keys hitting the pavement. “There we go.” Dean straightened up, tugged down his shirt, turned and grinned. “All set?”

            The word to describe how Sam looked in that moment—pink cheeked, mouth gaping, undeniable bulge—was flummoxed. Or flabbergasted. Something multi-syllable with an ‘F’ that Dean had read in a crossword. His lips moved like a fish’s, but no words came out. Some would have called Dean’s smirk smug. He preferred _well-earned_.

            “You coming, Sammy?” Dean asked, holding the door open for his brother as he scrambled to pick up the keys and hurry inside. _Cause you certainly will be soon_.

            A sweet-smiling waitress named Bertha seated them at a booth along the wall, plopping down a couple menus and taking their drink orders. Dean ordered a coke; Sam sputtered and stuttered, vacant glancing between Dean, Bertha, and the menu.

            “Just a water for him, please.”

            Bertha jotted their orders down on her notepad, slotting her stout pencil behind her ear as she _clip-clopped_ off behind the counter. Dean eased back into his seat, legs spread out wide beneath the table. His left foot just barely tapped Sam’s boot. He flopped open his menu, lips pursed as he perused. He could feel Sam boring two holes into the top of his head, heat practically coiling from the intensity of his stare.

            “Should I get the Double Decker Deluxe, or the Shrooms and Jack Supreme? What do you think, Sammy?” Dean peered over the edge of his menu, quirked an eyebrow, and tilted his head oh so gently to the left.

            Color flushed Sam’s cheeks a deep, rosy pink. His nostrils flared with each huff, the muscles of his jaw tight. He fumed. Dean’s grin slid smooth as butter across his mouth. He let the menu drop back onto the table.

            “Shrooms and Jack it is.” Sam licked his lips and leaned forward across the table. He opened his mouth to say something, but just then Bertha came with their drinks. They slid a little as she set them down, glasses slick with condensation.

            “Y’all ready to order?”

            “Yes! I’ll have the Supreme burger, please.” He lifted his menu, which Bertha took and tucked beneath her arm. She swiveled towards Sam.

            “And for you?”  Wide-eyed, Sam looked down at his menu in horror, as if it might suddenly transform into a werewolf. His gaze flitted from breakfast, to lunch special, to salads and burgers of the day. His mouth opened and closed, wordless and dumb. “Why don’t I give you another minute?” She stomped away with a definite _clomp_.

            “Better hurry up and decide,” Dean said as he took a sip of his coke. “Don’t want to make her angry.” Sam’s eyebrows knit together in a scowl, shoulders hunched up around his ears. He hunkered down over the menu, knuckles white against the lamination. Dean watched him, watched the careful drag of his eye, the soft curve of his throat, the bob of his swallow. His eyes traced the line of his collarbone, just visible beneath his shirt. Dean watched Sam lift his water glass to his lips. Dean mimicked him, lips smacking at the sugary rush of his soda. “Hm. Sammy, taste this, I think maybe it’s _laced_ with something.”

            Sam half-sputtered, half-snorted, water splashing out of his glass, onto his face and all over the table. Droplets fell onto his shirt, little dark circles against the white. Sam darted a murderous glance at his brother. _If looks could kill_ …

            “Geez, Sammy, drink much?” Sam ignored him, reaching for the napkin dispenser, which was conveniently empty. “Here, let me.” Dean twisted around in his seat, reaching over the back of the booth to snatch a handful of napkins from the next table. He angled his ass out, reaching farther than was absolutely necessary, the hem of his shirt once more riding up his lower back. Behind him came a chocking sort of sound that very well could have been a poorly suppressed moan. Dean sat back down, tossing a few napkins at Sam as he began to wipe up the table.

            Sam didn’t move. In fact, he seemed petrified, practically frozen in place. Dean couldn’t help the smug grin tugging at his mouth. He balled the used, sopping napkins into a little mound on the table’s edge. He leaned back, taking another sip from his coke.

            “Dean.” Sam’s voice barely rose above a whisper. He leaned forward, the edge of the table digging into his chest and pulling his shirt taunt against it. “Are you wearing _pretty pink panties_?”

            Dean did his best not to gloat as he sunk into the booth. His tongue darted out against the lip of his glass, catching a stray droplet of coke. Sam’s eyes followed it with avid hunger before darting up to look at him. Dean winked over the edge of the glass, smirking. He set his glass down with practiced calm.

            “Aw, Sammy, you think they’re pretty? Figured, you’re such a girl.”

            “I’m not—” Sam nearly shouted. A few, curious heads turned to look at them. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m not the one wearing _panties_.”

            “Your loss.” Dean squirmed in his seat, slow and languorous, his calf sliding up beside Sam’s. “These things feel like a dream.” He flicked his eyes to Sammy’s, held him in his gaze, unblinking. “And my ass looks great in them too.”

            Whatever biting response Sam had cooking fizzled as Bertha came back with Dean’s burger. The plate clattered as she let it drop from nearly four inches in the air. She raised an eyebrow at Sam.

            “Uh, no, thanks, nothing for me.” He offered her a weak smile as she scowled and stalked off. He turned his attention back to Dean, who’d already begun to dig into his food.

            Normally, Dean ate like an animal, half-starved, barely pausing to chew. But now, he savored each bite, eye shut in gluttonous rapture. His lips glimmered with the slick sheen of oil. He swallowed, a quiet, satisfactory moan slipping from his lips. Sam thought he might die.

            “Sammy, man, I’m telling you, this burger is heavenly. You sure you don’t want a bite?”

            “What I want,” Sam reached a hand beneath the table, gripping Dean’s knee as he leaned forward so Dean, only Dean, could hear, “is to take you back to the motel and fuck you till you can’t walk right.”

            Despite himself Dean groaned. His cock twitched, pressing against the soft confines of his panties. He licked the grease from his lips. He’d been angling for just such a proposition for over a week, and part of him wanted nothing more than to jump out of the booth and speed home, check and traffic laws be damned. Sam’s neck flushed red and a hungry want filled his eyes as he raked them over Dean. Already he felt himself chub up, jeans growing tight. He thought of the endless nights, half-hard, grinding down into a motel mattress while Sam stayed hunched over a computer screen. He thought of all the showers that had run cold, his hand tugging himself off till he was red and raw. He thought about the knee-knocking, ball-emptying sex he would have as soon as they got back to the room, about Sam desperate and panting for it. Dean grinned.

            “Sounds like a plan, Sammy.” A smile broke out across Sam’s face like his birthday and Christmas had come all at once. He started to stand when Dean said, “let me just finish my burger first.”

            Same deflated like a balloon, slumping back against the upholstery. His face contorted somewhere in between glum and fuming as he watched Dean nibble on his burger, eyes shut, moaning with each bite. He made a show of licking his lips often and slowly, the pink swipe of his tongue practiced and calculated. Sam gripped the table till his knuckles went white. When a splotch of ketchup landed on Dean’s thumb, he brought his hand to his lips, holding Sam’s gaze while he sucked it into his mouth, cheeks gone hallow, tongue lavishing it clean. Sam watched with an intensity better suited for a hawk or a brain surgeon, neck tight, face red. Beneath the table, he gripped Dean’s knee hard enough to bruise. His thumb popped free of his mouth, shiny and wet, and he grinned.

            “You boys want anything else?” Bertha asked when Dean finally— _finally_ —finished his burger, plopping the last bite into his mouth with a salacious moan.

            “Do you happen to have any pi—”

            “Nope.” Sam stood, grabbing Dean’s wrist and hauling him to his feet. “No, we’re good thanks, everything was great.” He threw a handful of crumbled bills onto the table, more than twice what their meal cost. “Dean, let’s go.” Sam pulled him out of the diner. Dean nearly had to jog to keep up. He shoved him towards the impala, pushed the keys into his hands, and threw himself into the passenger seat. As soon as Dean pulled out of the parking lot, Sam was on him, mouth pressing hot kisses to the side of his neck, hand pressing on his crotch.

            “God, Sammy, you want me to crash or something?” Dean tried for bite, but there was no heat in his voice, just a soft wanting as he nearly bucked out of his seat.

            “I want you to drive faster,” Sam whispered, tongue licking the outline of Dean’s ear.

            All in all, Dean ran two stop lights, took the curb around a sharp corner, and may or may not have sideswiped an old woman walking her dog, but he managed to make the ten minute drive in four, all with Sam trying to dig his hand down the back of his pants. They practically ran from the parking lot to their room, not even bothering to lock up. As soon as the door was shut, Sam pressed Dean hard up against it, body flush against his own, every inch a celebration, a point of thrilling, trembling contact. He loomed over Dean, holding him trapped against the hard grain of the wood, his crotch pressed up against Dean’s. Sam’s mouth found his, sucking at his bottom lip, drawing his tongue into his mouth. Dean went weak kneed, leaned heavy into his brother, let him hold him up as he ground their hips together.

            Dean’s head swam. Everything was Sam, his nose thick with the smell of the fancy shampoo that came in the bright blue bottle that he hid from Dean, thinking he didn’t know where to find it when Sam would be gone for hours at a time, in the library researching the latest motherfucker to crawl its way up out of hell, when he’d need something, _anything_ , to keep his fingers from itching themselves raw, and he’d find it, tucked away in his medicine bag. He’d uncap the top and breathe it in deep, and for a moment Sam would be there beside him. But it was nothing compared to the real thing, nothing like the thick strands Dean gripped in his hand and tugged against his face till he swooned.

            Dean’s mouth tingled with something just shy of numbness, lips kissed red and raw, bottom lip puffed out, asking for Sam to sink his teeth into it, to draw it into the luscious warmth of his mouth and suck. No matter how many times they’d done this, it felt, always, like the first time, that sweltering day in Pasadena, the sudden thunderstorm, huddled together and sopping wet in the Impala, the crack of lightening like a whip. Dean couldn’t tell which of Sam’s hands rucked up his shirt, splayed flat across his belly, whether it had been the awkward boy fresh out of college licking raindrops from his neck, or the man with shoulders like steel beams sucking a burnt plum below his left ear.

            Dean’s knees went weak. He clung to Sam’s shirt to keep from falling, to stop himself crumpling at the altar of his brother’s feet. Sam worked a thigh in between Dean’s, nudged at his crotch till Dean moaned low and sweet. Dean felt the smile of Sam’s mouth as his lips played across his collarbone. Sam practically carried him to the bed, feet dragging half an inch off the ground. The bedsprings groaned in protest beneath them. The air rushed from Dean’s lungs.

            “I wanna see.” Sam mouthed against the side of Dean’s jaw, fingers flying frantic at the button of his jeans. “Show me, Dean, I wanna _see_.”

            Whatever higher function part of his brain—the part that knew evil had to be hunted from the earth, the part that told him the right smile/wink combo to get him yet another free drink, the part that quietly, in the dead of the night, when Sam lay curled around him, told him it was wrong to fuck your brother and never wish for anyone else—went on the fritz the second Sam pushed up his shirt and latched ruddy lips around the bud of a nipple and bit. His fingers worked on autopilot, tugging the zipper down.

            Greedy hands dug into his jeans, and Dean bucked into them like he was sixteen all over again. His head lolled back against the pillow as Sam worked them down to mid-thigh, then stopped. He cracked an eye open to find Sam hovering over his lap, face reverent, pupils blown wide and mouth hanging open in that that perfect ‘fuck-me-up’ _O_. He traced a single finger along the lacy seam, low on Dean’s stomach, along the curve of his hip, up under the swell of his balls. He lowered his face to nuzzle at his dick, nose dipping into the nook between crotch and thigh, tongue darting out to taste the wet spot where the slit of Dean’s dick leaked.

            “You gunna stare at it all day or you gunna do something with it?” Dean tried for gruff and authoritative, but his voice came out thin and strained. He ached, cock so hard it hurt. His face flushed at the image of himself he snatched from the full-length mirror nailed to the closet door, shirt rucked up to his armpits, jeans pooled down around his knees, sprawled out and on display. He noted, with some dissatisfaction, that Sam was still fully dressed.

            “I might.” Sam cooed, fucking _cooed_ , as he ran his nose along the thickened curve of Dean’s dick. He sniffed and hummed contentedly. He reached and tugged Dean’s jeans the rest of the way off. He pushed his shirt up and over his head, draping himself across Dean’s chest to pepper kisses from his hip to his collarbone, stopping to suck a cherry kiss on his side, teeth scraping the pert pebble of a nipple. “You made _me_ wait.”

            “Yeah, okay, but only after _you—_ ” The rest of Dean’s sentence got swept away in the surprised grunt rushing out of him as Sam’s hands gripped his hips and flipped him with strength that never ceased to thrill and terrify him. On instinct he rose onto his knee, head cradled in his forearms, thighs spread invitingly.

            Behind him he heard Sam gasp, that sharp, sudden intake of breath like he’d been punched in the gut. Dean purred at the idea that after so long, after countless fucks, the sight of his ass could still stop his brother cold. Hands roamed up his thighs, hot and possessive, nails scratching at the insides. Sam’s breath puffed warm against the curve of his ass as he nuzzled the fabric stretched taunt against it. He imagined he could smell the roses embroidered between patches of almost transparent lace.

            “You like ‘em, Sammy? Huh? You like my pretty pink panties?” Sam didn’t need to see Dean’s face; he could hear the smug grin, could feel the wet patch spreading from where his dick threatened to tear through the fabric. It only made him love him more.

            “No, Dean.” Sam hooked a finger into the side of the panties, tugging them across his cheeks. “I _love_ them.”

            Dean mewled like a kitten when Sam’s tongue swiped wet and hot across his hole, fingers digging into his ass to spread him wide open. His whole body shook as Sam swirled his tongue around the winking muscle, dipping and diving till Dean shuddered at every pass. He bit his lip to keep from begging for it, but _fuck_ he was only human.

            “Sam. Sammy, please. Please man, I, I can’t—” Dean moaned, throaty and loud against his pillow, teeth ripping into it.

            “What’s that, Dean?” Sam nibbled on his right cheek, not hard, but hard enough. Dean ground his forehead into his hands. Spit drippled down to his balls. It felt like his dick would fall off.

            “Come on, man, I’m dying. Please, just, _please_.”

            “Please what, Dean?” Sam ran the tip of his tongue around Dean’s hole, touch so light, Dean so far gone, he thought maybe he’d imagined it. “I have no idea what you could _possible—_ ”

            “Just fuck me already, okay? Please, Sammy, I need you.”

            With a triumphant laugh, Sam flipped Dean onto his back, legs hiked up onto his shoulders. He leaned in real low, knees pressed into Dean’s chest, face inches from his. So close Dean could sit up and kiss that smug look off his face, if a ham-sized hand on his chest hadn’t been holding him down.

            “Not fun being the one teased, now is it?” Sam pressed his lips to Dean’s, drank kisses from his mouth.

            “Just shut up and put it in me.”

            Dean reached across to the nightstand, found the lube they kept out and tossed it in his brother’s face. He shuddered at the sudden, cool slickness as Sam worked a finger, then two, inside, not even bothering to pull the panties off, simply slipping his hand underneath. Then the slow, tortuous languor as Sam coated himself, tip to base, his eyes never leaving Dean’s. The pink tip of his tongue stuck out from between his lips.

            Sam grabbed the back of Dean’s knees and held them back as he positioned his hips. Panties pulled to the side, Dean’s dick pushed against the fabric, the tip leaking. The slick head of Sam’s cock pressed against Dean’s hole. He sucked in a breath as Sam slid in, the tight burn of the stretch making his vision blur and his eyes roll back into his head. He gritted his teeth, nostrils flared, till Sam bottomed out, sheathed deep, balls snug against the curve of his ass.

            “I swear your dick gets bigger every fucking day.” Dean swallowed around the tightness in his throat, did his best to unclench the muscles of his belly. Sam rubbed at the back of his thighs, leaned forward—Dean arched, grunted at the sudden shift inside him—and kissed his brother on the mouth. Kissed him slow and deep, till his lips parted and he allowed him entry, let Sam’s tongue taste the bruised insides of his mouth.

            “Whenever you’re ready.” Sam’s hair fell into his face, tickling his nose.

            “Well go on, I ain’t no princess.”

            Sam took off like a shot, pulling halfway out just to slam back in. Dean swore, loud and angry, fingers biting into the meat of Sam’s ass, where they held on for dear life. Sam held him down, pressed Dean’s knees into his chest, till every breath was a struggle, each thrust a gut-punch forcing the air out his lungs. His hips snapped with athletic precision, the wet smack of skin on skin loud enough to be heard through the paper-thin walls. Dean didn’t care, didn’t care about the neighbors hearing, didn’t care about the tense ring of his body stretched taunt around the enormity of his brother’s dick, didn’t give two shits about anything but the delicious burn inside him, the awful, sweet ache of his dick, which twitched and throbbed each time Sam slid full and hard inside him, rubbing against that secret spot within him that made stars dance behind his eyelids.

            Sam’s hand found his chest, pushed him down as he angled his body, rising up onto his knees to lean forward. Dean bit his cheek, promised he wouldn’t beg Sammy to fuck him harder, faster, to fist a hand in his hair. Beneath his brother’s hands he came undone, delirious with the slick stretch of his body around Sam. His mind short-circuited as Sam’s hand gripped his throat.

            “Think you’re hot shit, Dean?” Sam leaned close, breath warm on Dean’s face. “Think it’s funny to walk around all dolled up like the type of slut you pick up in bars?”

            Dean whimpered, fucking whimpered, when Sam tightened his grip. The front of his panties were soaked through, dick straining against them, but when he reached a hand down, Sam batted it away, pining his wrist to the bed.

            “You like getting me worked up? Huh?” Sam slowed his hips to a smooth roll, dick gliding in and out of Dean’s ass in an easy rhythm that had Dean shivering. “You like being a tease?”

            “Please,” Dean croaked out around Sam’s grip, “fuck, please, Sammy.”

            “You begging, it that what’s happening? You begging for this dick?” Sam slowed even more, pulling out till just the tip of his dick remained nestled in Dean’s hole. Dean screwed his eyes shut and shook his head frantically.

            “Sammy, babe, _please_ …”

            Sam lowered his mouth to Dean’s, sucked on his tongue and bit his lip. Dean moaned long and loud when Sam slid back in, balls deep. He shuddered around it. Sam started fucking him again, pushing his weight forward, hand tight on Dean’s throat, both their faces slightly red.

            “You know what I thought when I saw those panties? You know what I was thinking, Dean?” Words failed him. Dean shook his head again, hands fisted in the bedsheets, dick so hard he worried it’d snap. “I thought, _I have to fuck him_ right now _, I have to drag him to the bathroom and fuck him in an empty stall_.” Dean’s breath caught around the moan punched out of him as Sam ground his dick into his ass. Sam let go of his wrist to smack his ass, grabbing a handful and squeezing. “If you’d taken any longer to eat I would have fucked you right over the table.”

            Dean felt his balls tighten against his body as he came, shuddering and cursing and spitting out a litany of _SamSammySamSamSam_. He soaked the front of his panties, cum dripping down the swell of his balls to pool above his hole. He dribbled onto Sam’s cock, cum mixed with lube as Sam rode out his orgasm, pounding into him, till he came with a garbled shout. Dean felt the warm rush of his brother’s cum fill his ass, spilling onto the bedsheet when Sam pulled out to flop down beside him.

            Slowly, Dean lowered his legs, the soft ache of his thighs making his wince. He cracked his toes as his hole winked, leaking out another dribble of cum. Sam rolled over to drape an arm across him. He nuzzled into his neck, all tender and honeymoonish. Sam was a rough fuck, just like Dean had taught him, but afterwards he wanted the sweetheart stuff. Dean refused to admit how much he loved it, grumbling as Sam maneuvered him into the little spoon.

            “That was…” Sam huffed out a laugh against the nape of Dean’s neck, planting a kiss on the knob of his spine. “I mean…wow.” His finger traced the damp line of Dean’s panties.

            “Yeah, well, maybe don’t hold out on me so long, okay? A man’s got needs.”

            “So what, you only want me for my body?” Sam snaked a hand down to rub at Dean’s half-hard dick, smearing his fingers with his tacky, still-warm cum.

            “Nah, just your dick.”

            “Jerk.”

            “Bitch.”

            They laid together in silence, the soft hum of Sam’s breath vibrating through his chest and into Dean’s back. He felt a heavy wave of fatigue lapping up his body, washing over his eyelids, and he unconsciously wrapped Sam’s arm tighter around his waist. He snuggled back into his brother’s embrace. Lips ghosted over the nape of his neck, fingers scratching at his hair.

            “Hey, Dean?” Sam whispered. Dean grumbled, tugged back from the edge of sleep, mind half gone.

            “Yeah?”

            Sam hesitated, distracted as he petted Dean’s hair, fingers trailing down the side of his face. “Thanks for, um…thanks.”

            Dean rolled over in Sam’s grasp, till they lay face to face, chest to chest. He nudged the underside of Sam’s chin with his nose, made him look up so he could kiss him full on the mouth.

            “Anything for my baby boy.”

            Sam hugged him close. Gradually, his breathing slowed, mouth parted ever so slightly in sleep. Dean grinned to himself, face tucked up under Sam’s chin, head pillowed on his shoulder. A smug, self-satisfaction draped itself over him as he too drifted off to dream. After all, if Sam had liked the panties, Dean couldn’t _wait_ to see what he thought about what else he bought.


End file.
